Kurta Rakontas
by BluFox15
Summary: "Short Tales" A small collection of short stories that wanted to come out into the open. Enjoy... Hysteria 2: What could've been...
1. Twilight

Twilight.

The short meeting of day and night. As I sit atop the tallest building in Amity Park, the sight of the sunset -- or is it sunrise? I've been here so long, I don't even know -- gets me thinking. I now realize that Twilight is a lot like me; at the moment, no one can really tell just by looking whether or not the sun will rise or fall. As it is right now, it could be either one. Just like me.

I could easily rise above the toils of everything that is expected of me, including high school, which will end in a matter of years. But, just as easily, I could fall prey to the pressure in a number of ways -- my parents, Valerie, the Guys in White, Skulker, Vlad -- they could all catch me, do experiments on me, even kill me. Or the pressure of ghost hunting, keeping my secret, and maintaining a passing grade could finally take its toll on my sanity.

Both halves of me can be described by the end -- or beginning -- of Twilight as well. Dawn and Dusk. But I've asked myself over and over which half fits where? They both seem to match perfectly. My human half could be Dawn in the way my confidence, skills, courage, strength, endurance, speed, agility -- they've all become more and more apparent as time rolls by. The boy known as Danny Fenton is slowly becoming less and less of a "kid in the background" and more and more of a force to be reckoned with.

But he could also be considered my Dusk side, as I slowly sink further into the depths of my secret. Away from my parents, away from school, away from the town, even. The only ones who can even be considered close to me is my sister, Jazz, and my friends, Tucker and Sam. But even then, I cannot be completely myself with them, because they don't know what it means to constantly be two people, two entities, two parts, two members of two worlds: Fenton... and Phantom.

My ghost half, of course, is a shoo-in for the Dusk category. I am, after all, half-dead. For the day of my accident left my "sun" half eclipsed by the horizon of death... to remain that way until another accident -- most likely in fighting -- or the passing of years finally takes the other half with it as the sun sets.

But Phantom could also be Dawn, in the way that being a ghost gives you a freedom like few could ever imagine. Honestly, who can boast about being able to take a midnight flight through the city as a break from the "gravity" that is school and constant fighting? Not many.

But still... I can only wonder, where will my own life -- or, half-life -- leave me? What will my Twilight fade to? Am I on a worthwhile path of Dawn? Or will I fall into my almost-future that was Dusk? Not even ClockWork knows -- there are too many choices, too many futures, to accurately tell where I'm headed in this point in time. All I, or anyone, can do at this point is watch. And wait.

I break out of my reverie just in time to see Twilight finally break. The infinite array of colors stream together into one bright, sad-looking marigold as the sun rises -- Dawn.

I smile a smile unseen to the rest of the world as I stand and gaze at the sunrise, before speeding off towards FentonWorks. Maybe, just maybe, I can break the Twilight that my life is currently frozen in. I can finally look forward to a better day -- a brighter Dawn.

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**December 6, 2008****  
You may remember this from before, but I'm taking my one-shots and putting them all in one place. Enjoy!  
~Foxxi**


	2. Hysteria

_Hysteria_

He searched through a grime-covered dumpster, searching for his next meal. As he dug out a half-eaten loaf of bread covered in moldy spaghetti, he vaguely wondered why he reduced himself to this. Then, with a smirk, he remembered that it was because he had nothing better to do. How pitiful.

Eyes glassy with fatigue and bad memories, he tossed the bread to the side, considering it a bad endeavor. He leaped down, having climbed up in order to reach inside, and dug dirty hands into ratty pockets. There was nothing else to search in that particular alley, so he made his way out and down the sidewalk.

The streets were all too familiar to him, since he had been there for a few months already. He left Amity Park a long while ago, probably a year. The months between it and Princeton was spent walking. In hindsight, he half-heartedly thought that flying would've saved him a great deal of energy and time, but the other half believed that he was giving himself a small portion of his newly formed hell by not making things easier for himself.

He idly flexed his hands. He needed some sort of activity and quickly. He searched around for something to kick, throw, punch, anything. It was then that he noticed a grocery store around the corner. His mouth twitched. He was hungry, there was no denying that, but was he really that desperate? His stomach groaned in anticipation, making him groan along with it. He pulled his hands out of his pockets, flipping them inside out as they went. Nothing. Not even pocket lint.

He bit his lip and turned blue eyes to the store entrance once more. People coming and going, coming and going, and coming and going still. Surely someone would notice if he stole anything...

_"You are three sizes too small for your age. You can easily slip by anyone attentive enough to notice."_

"No," he said aloud, causing a young couple to stop and stare warily before moving on. "I'm not a thief. Besides, there are too many people to slip around."

_"You're also a pretty fast runner. You can outrun anyone, especially a few store clerks."_

"You don't know that," he snapped, forgetting that 'you' was himself, even if it included a couple extra voices. "They must have shoplifters at least once a month. They would be able to catch me."

_"You can turn yourself invisible."_

He froze. That was one thing he couldn't truly argue against. It'd be so easy, going invisible, grabbing a couple of fruits, leaving, and no one in the store noticing until they made inventory at the end of the day. If they did. He had no clue what stores did with their stock. He bit his lip once more, and, cursing whatever demon decided to house itself in his conscience, he triggered the required inner reflex, and made his way unseen through the entrance.

The building was cool, giving him a small amount of relief from the summer heat. He made his way through the aisles, being cautious of bumping into anybody, and quickly found himself in the fruits section of the store. One look at the 'free' food made his eyes cloud even more, his hunger becoming even more apparent. He shook himself out of it just in time to avoid a mother and her daughter pulling a cart his way.

_Jeez, _he thought, eyes following the pair around the corner._ I've got to be more careful. I can't believe I'm actually doing this..._

_"Oh, please!" _said a second voice, more scornful than persuasive,_ "It's either this or go hungry! And trust me, starving hurts...!"_

_Fine, fine, _he thought, taking care not to say anything aloud.

He walked over to the apple stand, still checking every once in a while to see if anyone was about to run into him. He finally reached them, took one last look around the area, and grabbed two, one in each hand. They were instantly turned invisible by influence, but he could still feel them in his hands. Hell, he could practically taste them already.

Suddenly, there was a pain in his chest, resulting in three things altogether. First, he immediately cried out and nearly dropped the apples. Second, his lapse in concentration caused him to gain visibility. And third, he gained the attention of a passing guard, who saw his ragged appearance and the apples in his hands and jumped to (the right) conclusions.

"Hey!" she shouted, causing him to look up in panic.

_"__Run, you dolt! Run!__"_ yelled a voice, and he, finally realizing that she could see him, renewed his grip on the fruit and made a mad dash for the exit. Growling, the guard snatched her radio from her belt and bolted after him.

He wasn't thinking straight. He couldn't. But if he did, then he would've noticed the group of teens hanging out in front of the exit. He would've swerved around them and avoided them altogether. But instead he ran between them. And the teens, either annoyed by the sudden intrusion or aware of the situation, did the first thing they could think of. Either through virtue of a good deed or revenge, they tripped the young boy, who consequently toppled onto the pavement.

The guard finally showed up, panting heavily from the impromptu workout, and straightened herself out. She took one look at the groaning teenager and scoffed. "Idiot. Did you really think you could get away with shoplifting?"

He turned his head and faced her, staring her dead in the eye. Or, rather, where he thought her eyes were since his vision was getting blurrier. His attention was also caught by a voice--a different, more angry one--pounding in his head.

_**"You idiot! You let yourself get caught! Now, not only are you still hungry, but you'll spend the night in the police station 'cause you're too weak to get away! Idiot!"**  
_

He opened his mouth, either to answer the guard or his nagging subconscious, but whatever he was about to say was violently cut off with a coughing fit. Throughout the minute-and-a-half that it lasted, the guard's eyes softened considerably. She looked over to the now-bruised and useless apples splayed in the parking lot, and sighed. _I don't get paid enough for this..._ Her gaze whipped back to the boy, and sharpened when she saw red on his chin. "Hey... are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he snapped, getting up to walk away, but he immediately lapsed into another fit. It was shorter, but much more violent than the last one. As he started to breathe normally again, the guard took his hand, nearly shivering from the cold temperature, and flipped it over before he could protest. It was covered in blood... and something else.

"What the hell...?" she whispered, before looking back up to the boy. He was about two shades paler than he was before and was attempting to glare at her, but they were extremely out of focus. "Hey, hey kid! Are you alright? Answer me!" He gave a light groan, but didn't respond. "Look, I'm going to call an ambulance, okay? Just sit tight." She let go of his wrist and renewed her hold on the radio.

At the word 'ambulance,' however, the boy's glassy eyes immediately refocused. "No... no! Don't call an ambulance, I can't go to a hospital! I c-can't--" But before he could finish his protest, he cried out once more, reacting to another stabbing pain in his chest. The guard looked over at the noise, seeing him doubled over. "Oh, God!" she cried, before catching him on the shoulders and laying him down.

"Don't worry," she said, not knowing what else to say. "There's an ambulance on its way. You'll be fine."

He looked over at the guard, seeing nothing but foggy colors, but attempted to answer anyway. "No... I c-can't... no doctors... n-no..."

Before he, the guard, or anyone from the inevitable crowd that formed could say anything more, he finally collapsed, the last thing he heard being the blaring siren of what even he couldn't mistake as help.

_**

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**__A story swimming in my head that I just may finish and publish for all to read if the prologue gets a good reception. Can you guess what the cross-over is...? ~Foxxi  
_


	3. The Letter

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Fenton,

You don't know me. You wouldn't normally. My life is world away from yours and under common circumstances, I wouldn't be writing this letter. However, these circumstances are far from common, and recent event have led me to believe the otherwise insane notion that our worlds are closer than I had first thought. This is the hardest letter I've ever had to write, so please hear me out.

My name is Keni. That's the way I write it. It's short for Kennith and I hate to be called that or Ken. I also get upset when others write it as Kenny or Kenneth. My father, however, refuses; he's always called me Kennith whether I want him to or not.

My grades aren't perfect, but they are above average. Whether that's because I find the subject matter simple or because the subject matter truly is, I'm not sure. It's most likely the latter; I don't see myself as an incredibly bright person.

I have a few friends and am on good terms with my teachers. Though my father and I aren't rich, we have enough to keep us comfortable and some left over for my college fund. He runs his own business and we have a some what steady income from that.

I know that you don't want to read about some stranger's life, but I know that you would want to. The reason is because of an article I stumbled across online dated back more than ten years ago. You see, I am an avid fan of your work; I am almost as excited about the way ghosts work as you are, and I follow your progress every chance I get. My father does not, however. He's never liked it, which is why my hobby is a secret from him.

As I researched copies of the Amity Park Tribune, I found an article that I'm sure you've tried to forget. And with it came a picture of a young boy, five years old, with black hair, blue eyes, and a messy style that would never be tamed. A boy who looked just like me.

When I realized this, I didn't know what to think. Actually, yes, I did. I thought that it was the most insane thought I have ever had. But in the days after, I've noticed small things. Things that could be written off as me being incredibly paranoid, but that also could be huge hints towards what I had just found. It started as an insane notion. Now it's a very possible truth. I could be Danny Fenton. I could be your son.

So now, I write this letter. I have no clue how it will be received, so in the event that this is a horrible mistake, I will not give a return address. I will, however, give an e-mail address for you to respond to. I'm not sure if I want to be wrong or right, but please, if you are my parents, help me find out what exactly is going on.

Sincerely,

Kennith 'Keni' Tamress

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This is another story idea of mine. Hope you enjoy, 'cause this is the only outlet for my plot bunnies... ^^ Read and Review! ... Please?  
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	4. The War

**_The War_**

There has been a war waged for centuries that everyone notices but no one acknowledges. A war that a fair amount of people mention but that none ever speak of. A war that most -- if not all -- have participated in, fought in, even going so far as to choose the victor of its many battles; but hardly ever saying a word about it, because no one knows it's a war.

If you believe that such a war is impossible, you need only to look into your own mind, your own past, to seek any decision that you have made between what you wanted and what you needed. Between what's supposed to be done and what should be done. Between what's logical and what's right.

Between your mind... and heart.

Everyone has gone through this war, even when one side is clearly more dominant, or when one side is practically non-existent. No one has completely given all of their choices according to their mind or their heart. There's always been battles, just as there's always been (and always will be) a war.

Take, for example, a young teenager the age of sixteen. Her grades are impeccable; her records, flawless. She is fairly popular and she is almost always right (almost for two reasons: because she was actually wrong twice upon a time, and for the fact that she wouldn't be a very good example if she was perfect.)

Her choices, more often than not, have been in favor of her mind. Every fact, theory, and statistic neatly stored into the back of her mind until needed, and reality played a big part in her views. Hence why her parents' odd career didn't sit too well with her.

But when she discovered her younger brother's secret, her mind and heart had a fierce battle that she hadn't had in years. _Go to your parents immediately and tell them exactly what you saw, _said her mind_. You aren't a liar. You never hide anything from your parents. This has nothing to do with you and you have nothing to lose, so why change old habits...?_

Her heart, however, spoke differently. _You should trust your brother. There has to be a reason he hasn't told anyone. You've seen what he does and now know that it's him. He knows what he's doing. Trust him._

The battle continues like this for a while before the girl's heart finally wins. For the first time in her conscious memory, she abandons the most logical decision and trusts her brother to tell her when he's ready. As long as she could help out in little ways, there's no reason why she couldn't wait. After all, it was a pretty big secret.

For an example of the other side of the spectrum, take a look at the same girl's father. He's very fun loving, and cares for his family. Yet he is also very foolish and has a one-track mind. He tends to listen to his heart more often than his head, due to the fact that everything seemed so much easier that way. Just leave everything to his very intelligent and dependable wife, and receive a snicker-doodle cookie or block of fudge as a reward for not breaking anything.

But there came a time, much farther down the time-line than when his daughter discovered her brother's secret, that the aforementioned secret caused him to catch his son coming home at an ungodly hour.

While the father noticed his son's tardiness, he also noticed the shadows under his eyes that told him that his son wanted nothing more than to be in his bed (despite being out of it for longer than one would normally consider,) as well as the bruises half-hidden under torn clothing.

The man's heart was very calm. _He didn't have to have gotten those bruises just now. You know how clumsy he is; he could've tripped over anything today. And he's tired because he was out so late. Trust him. You know he wouldn't be in anything dangerous; he's your son!_

His mind was also calm, but with a more dangerous tone. _No. Something's wrong, you know something's wrong. He was out late for a reason, and that reason is hurting him. Just look at him; this isn't the only time he's been dead on his feet. It's been like this for months. Something has to be wrong._

On the outside, nothing was different. Upon arrival, his son was grounded for several weeks and sent to his room, nearly tripping over his own feet in exhaustion three times on the way up the stairs. However, on the inside, the father's mind won for the first time in years. He would find out what was wrong. For his son's sake.

Such choices may almost seem simple to an outsider, making you wonder why they were such monumental choices to the person who bore the decision. But everyone faces these choices, albeit on a much smaller scale. After all, hasn't someone made some sort of choice like one between staying behind after school to study (mind) or hanging out with their friends (heart)? Between dealing with something you no longer have to (mind) and ending it when you're not supposed to (heart)? Between telling someone a secret to keep them from hurting (heart) or protecting them with the lack of knowledge (mind)?

Too often are the mind and heart battling each other for dominance over any given purpose, but it is an extremely rare case when the two agree with no loopholes or differences in reason. But it can happen.

The young boy whom we spoke of in both of the previous examples is one such exception, where his heart and his mind are often on par with each other. Of course they still battle each other often, but this boy is still a special case.

You see, the boy's previously mentioned secret has a lot to do with this special case. His, shall we say, 'job' causes him to keep a constant mindset. To aid. To fight. To protect. If he were trying to help someone, his heart would only encourage him to do so while his mind would find the wisest way to do it. To fight an enemy, his heart would give him the drive to keep going while his mind kept up the knowledge of how to fight well. In order to protect those he cares about, his heart would only strengthen his resolve while his mind would give him better ways to do so. Balance.

Of course, no one knows of these inner happenings. Not even the ones who are a part of them. And no one knows about the war. Will the war ever end? I may say no. You may say yes. He/she/they may say some intermediate comment along the lines of 'maybe,' 'possibly,' or 'it could happen.' We'll never know.

Just know that you are a part of infinitesimal battles. A part of the little changes in everyone's way of thinking. A part of the war.

Between your very own heart... and your very own mind.

_

* * *

Very old one-shot. If it's any good, let me know!_

_Keep on keepin' on!_

_~Foxxi_


	5. Reflections

**My entry for Cori's July Contest. Only a couple days to spare, but I'm miraculously still on time. Do y'all have any idea how long it took me to edit this thing until it was under 3,000 words? It was originally past 4,000! Gawd! It is now officially 2,999! XP  
**

**Oh, well. It fits now; that's what counts. Even if it doesn't get a prize, I hope all of _you_ enjoy it, my semi-faithful readers!**

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_

_Reflections_

It was a stormy midnight in Amity Park. They had been chasing this ghost for several hours. Their guns had long since died but were almost completely recharged, thanks to the Fentons' most recent invention: a device that extracts energy from the target for the hunter to use for themselves.

It took out two birds with one stone - weakening the ghost and strengthening their own weapons.

This ghost should've collapsed hours ago, though. The ghosts they tested it on only lasted 45 minutes at best before they entered a dormant state of rest. This one...

The agent grinned at a beep heard over the howling wind. Their guns had finished charging. Without further ado, he and his comrades lifted their weapons and opened fire.

The boy - it wasn't really a boy, just the ectoplasmic form of one - agilely jumped and dodged the blasts and their craters, all without slowing the pace he'd set ever since he lost the ability to fly. And the loss of ectoplasm not only took away the boy's powers, it also changed his appearance. The agent could've sworn that black-and-white-trim hoodie wasn't there before and that the ghost had white hair, but it now looked more gray and was turning darker still.

'We can test him for it later,' the agent thought, perfecting his aim. He smirked when the ghost tripped over himself trying to continuously evade capture. He let out a laugh when one of his own shots hit the ghost in the leg. It made him stumble, but he didn't slow his pace one bit. What the hell was this kid made of?

All the same, he still got a hit. He knew that the others saw it; they had given a howl of predatory excitement and fired more frequently, hoping to get their own shots in.

They were nearing the bridge now; it was flooded with water and would be hard to wade through. The ghost must've noticed this as well; with no visual warning he leapt up onto one of the bridge's rails and ran on with perfect balance.

The agent and his men wasted no time in readjusting their aim. In seconds a section of the railing was completely demolished, and he again got a hit on the boy, this time on the shoulder. He heard the painful cry even over the wind and rain, and gave a sadistic smile as splintered wood, twisted metal, and the ghost himself fell over the side with an almighty crash.

He and his comrades ceased fire and looked over the side. They could see nothing but a rushing, overflowing river pounded with rain - the ghost boy disappeared.

The agent didn't bother to hide a wide Cheshire-Cat grin as he looked with the others for several more minutes. The boy didn't have enough power to turn intangible; it was likely that, even if he couldn't die again by drowning, he was carried out of Amity altogether by the current.

They all abandoned the fruitless search. The agent was slightly disappointed in the fact that they could no longer experiment on the ghost, but not enough that he couldn't appreciate the fact that they wouldn't be bothered by Phantom anytime soon.

* * *

Danny Fenton, now completely human, heard the footsteps fade away and sighed in relief. After he had fallen, he'd grabbed one of the low beams of the bridge and swung under it, using his limbs to keep him securely under its belly. It wasn't long before his leg and shoulder were on fire, but he still didn't make a sound before the hunters were gone.

Shifting his grip, Danny swung himself from under the bridge. He climbed up the ruined railing and pulled himself onto the bridge before collapsing. He took deep gulping breaths, having completely exhausted himself. But the rain eventually roused him enough to sit up and eventually stand up, wincing and groaning from his injuries. He gripped the good side of the bridge to steady himself, and then slowly made the painful trek home.

Thirty minutes and a half-mile later, the door to FentonWorks slowly crept open and the battered and bruised half-ghost slipped through and closed it quietly. He bit his lip, focused on staying quiet despite his injuries. The silence was broken anyway.

"And where, exactly, were you?"

Danny remained relaxed, recognizing and expecting the voice. His weary blue eyes took in his elder sister of two years. "Hey, Jazz."

"Don't 'Hey, Jazz' me, Danny," Jazz said, her strawberry-blonde hair tied up and aqua eyes hard. "It's past one o'clock! What could you possibly be doing at one in the morning?"

"Being stupid." Which was entirely true. He'd been stupid to go to Axion labs without Sam and Tucker, who would've helped him make an actual plan and disable the alarms and traps that had gotten him into the mess he'd been in.

"I already know that much," Jazz replied, walking towards him, pink robe sweeping her ankles. When she stopped in front of him, Danny was loathe to notice, again, that she was at least three inches taller than he was. "I simply want to know exactly what stupid thing you were doing."

"You know full well that nothing is as simple as you make it out to be." He didn't mean to sound so short, but the trip home had taken his mind off his leg. Now it was beginning to burn again. Added to the pain still in his shoulder, he wasn't in a particularly good mood.

"Of course not. But this is simple enough." Her eyes bore into his. "You went to Axion labs by yourself. And now you're beaten to half a pulp."

Danny barely succeeded in not flinching. _Was it that bad?_ "I wanted figure out Vlad's plans without unnecessarily involving anyone else."_ There. That sounded like a good enough excuse, right?_

Jazz apparently didn't think so. "And you got beaten to half a pulp," she said again, eying his injuries. She glared daggers and she seemed to stab both wounds repeatedly with the scrutiny.

Danny shrugged his good shoulder. "I already said I was out being stupid. I never said it was a good idea."

Jazz just stared at him. "You don't get it, do you?" she said softly. Danny's face, near emotionless since he realized his sister was there, expressed surprise at the sudden change. Jazz's eyes softened and her annoyance faded, showing someone many years older than seventeen.

Danny took in the change warily. "Don't get... what?" he asked.

Jazz just shook her head. "Get over to the couch," she said, putting a hand on his good shoulder and guiding him around the corner to the living room. "I have first aid set up already."

And indeed she did. There on the small living room table sat a large white first aid kit, the gauze and antiseptic sitting out. Danny's leg ached as he sat down. Jazz knelt down on the floor beside him and rolled his jeans up. Now that Danny actually had the time to look at his leg, the sight of it nearly made him gag. The gash was thin but obviously deep. The edges of the wound were burnt badly, second and third degree, but not enough to cauterize it and keep it from bleeding the greenish-red blood that covered the rest of his leg.

"I had a feeling those shots hurt more than usual," he snarked, hoping to relieve tension. He wasn't sure if it really worked, but it did get a slight smile out of Jazz. It disappeared, though, when she took a wet cloth and started cleaning the wound. He tried not to hiss, though his grimace of pain didn't go unnoticed.

"How do you keep doing this stuff to yourself, Danny?" she asked, worry clear in her voice as she bandaged his leg.

"By being stupid," he repeated. This time he cringed from Jazz's glare rather than her jarring his shoulder as she pulled his shirt off. She said nothing as she began to clean off his shoulder. It was both better and worse than his leg. Better in that there was no gash or bleeding, and worse in that the burns were far more serious.

Silence filled the room, with neither sibling wanting to disturb it. But as it wore on, it grew increasingly uncomfortable and Danny finally had to say something. "M'sorry," he said softly, ignoring how pathetic he sounded. Jazz either didn't notice or didn't care as she took the antiseptic and made his shoulder burn only a little more. "I was more than an idiot to make you worry."

"Yes, you were," Jazz muttered, keeping her gaze on his shoulder. "And you still are if you think I was the only one worried."

Danny was confused as he asked, "What? Why? Did you tell Sam and Tucker, too?"

"Oh, please," she groaned. "If you'd done what I thought you did - and I was right - then I wasn't going to get them riled up in the middle of the night when I knew you were going to get what was coming to you tomorrow when they find out anyway." Danny's eye twitched at the thought. "I'm talking about Mom and Dad."

"Mom and Dad? What did they do?"

"Pitch a fit, of course," she said, finishing the bandage and returning his ruined shirt. He took it numbly as he listened. "The minute Mom found out that you'd snuck out again, she threatened to turn the town on its ear looking for you, and then to ground you until you were old enough to retire. Dad wasn't much better - he only sat down and brooded on it during Mom's tirade instead of ranting about putting you in the Fenton Stockades."

Danny paled and cursed inwardly. "What happened?"

"I somehow convinced them that you would come home eventually like you always do," Jazz said simply. "I barely managed to get them to let me stay down here and 'greet' you when you got back instead of Mom. Not just because of your secret, but because I wanted to get at you first. And to tell you that they will have their way with you in the morning and I will most likely do nothing to stop them."

Danny said nothing and only looked down at his knees while he processed everything. He felt his hands clench into fists and stubbornly ignored the pain in his shoulder for it. "I can't keep doing this," he whispered, saying it to himself but knowing that Jazz heard him. Her response was only to gently straighten one of his fists and hold it. He glanced at her. Even though Jazz was older than him, her hands were smaller. As she laced her fingers through his, he couldn't help but notice that hers were really soft compared to his, hardened and callused from what felt like a lifetime of ghost fighting. He felt both comfort and jealousy at the thought. Why did he, a fifteen-year-old who could've had a semi-normal life, have to be cursed with this? This life of hiding, hunting, and being hunted? This life where the world might be destroyed if he decided to give it up, and by his own hands if he let his guard down?

"Hey," said Jazz, squeezing her brother's hand tighter and using her other hand to turn his face towards her. "Danny, look at me." Danny stubbornly kept his eyes downcast. "Danny," Jazz insisted, and he reluctantly obeyed. She smiled sadly. "You know that whether you're half-ghost or not, they're going to worry about you, fuss at you, and threaten to flip the universe upside down if it means keeping you safe." She made a face. "The fact that Dad would probably literally do that is besides the point."

Danny tried to smile at the half-joke, but it quickly fell. "I know. I know that, Jazz. But the thing is, I am half-ghost, whether I want to be or not. I'm going to keep fighting ghosts and I'm going to keep getting hurt. Just look at me!" He pulled back and gestured at his shoulder and leg. "Two more to add to the collection of scars I never wanted."

"Danny..." Jazz whispered, for once unsure of what to do. She could only sit and listen.

"Mom and Dad..." He chuckled darkly. "They hunt me every chance they get, convinced that if Phantom's gone, Amity Park will be peaceful again. Maybe they're right, but what if they're not? What if what I go through is the only thing keeping this town standing?" He clenched his fists again, nails digging into his palms. "I'm not even sure if the fact that they don't know I'm their son is comforting or disheartening. I'm not sure I want to find out. Will they still love Danny Fenton? Will they still hate Danny Phantom?" He sighed and finally relaxed his fists, taking only brief notice of the fact that he drew blood.

Jazz instantly began fussing over his hands. Danny let her, if only for the fact that he was somehow more spent than he was when he first got home. He stared silently at the far wall, wanting to blow a hole in it for some reason, yet at the same time wanting to break down and cry. His body chose instead to do nothing.

When Jazz had settled down and all was quiet, she whispered, "I hate this." Danny faced her, confused. "Seeing you like this," she clarified. Now she was the one with her eyes downcast. "Ever since you were born, you were my little brother, and I was your big sister. When Mom and Dad weren't around, I was the one who took care of you. But back then, my idea of taking care of you was making sure you didn't trip over yourself." She wrung her hands anxiously. "Little things that five-year-olds did, that eight-, ten-, twelve-year-olds did. And through it all, I was your older sister who took care of you."

Danny watched as Jazz grew less composed. "I didn't expect anything different when you were fourteen. We were both in the same school again, and a high school no less, so I needed to protect you just as I always had. I didn't know that you didn't need protecting anymore."

Jazz sniffed and smiled ruefully at her brother. "I wanted to pretend, though. I looked for signs that weren't there, hoping that you still needed your big sister. When I found out who you were and what you were doing, forced myself to back off, not letting you know that I knew, only making an effort to protect your secret from our parents." Jazz gave a watery laugh, looking down at her knees again. "You have enemies that I can't protect you from. You've done things that would make grown men insane. You act far older than I do, sometimes. Like the world is on your shoulders. You're so busy protecting me, I can't protect you anymore..." Tears fell, and Jazz collapsed in on herself.

Danny didn't think twice. He took his sister in his arms and she buried her face in his good shoulder, sobbing enough to shake them both, yet never making a sound. Danny quietly rubbed circles into her hair. As Jazz calmed down, Danny let himself smile. "Hey..." he murmured, "after everything that's happened, you are one of the people who protect me the most." This brought a hiccuping half-sob from Jazz, but he kept going. "You, Sam, and Tucker... as much as I protect you, you protect me more. Without you, I would've broken a long time ago. It would've been too much for me without someone to tell me everything would turn out alright."

Danny pulled back and held Jazz's face in his hands. "My world began to fall apart when I walked away from that accident. Like my life was a half-destroyed blanket that was only held together by a thread that was getting weaker every time something happened that shouldn't have. Sam and Tucker keep the edges from fraying, but you are what keeps the pieces together. Especially after you found out." His eyes grew tired. "Spectra... the words she used to get into my head nearly tore me apart. If you weren't there to help..." Danny shook his head and sighed, dropping his hands. "Things like that are what make me glad I have you for a big sister. Because I have no clue where I'd be without you."

Jazz stared at her brother, salty streaks lining her face, and she hugged him again. He hugged back. Neither of them knew how long they stayed like that, and neither cared. Each other's company was the most they had to look forward to after such a harrowing and revealing night.

* * *

Jack and Maddie came down at six in the morning to find both of their teenagers curled on the couch, wrapped in each other's arms. They started in alarm at the first aid kit and Danny's bandages, but seeing the siblings' faces, peaceful in sleep, they decided not to wake them. That was a discussion that could certainly wait.


	6. Galaxxi

A dream. That's what it had to be. A bad dream. No, more than that. A horrific nightmare.

There was no way that it was real. Real life didn't have shape-shifting ghosts with no origin or age in control of the time stream and waiting to slice him in two. Real life didn't have horrifying monsters from the future claiming to be the result of cheating on a test. Real life didn't cause his friends, family, and teacher to ultimately end up tied to a boiler about to be killed by - of all things - flammable hot sauce.

But real life did mean that a bad choice had consequences. And because he was, for lack of a better word, _special_, those consequences were far more elaborate. And far more deadly.

It wasn't fair. A little less energy on that wail, and he could've stayed transformed long enough to save them. A slightly longer gait, and he could've avoided the stone that tripped him up. A little less panic, and he could've gotten up fast enough to do something. _Anything_.

But no. Real life wasn't fair. And this was all too real.

The blast blew him backwards. He soared under no power of his own in an almost graceful arc before landing painfully on the concrete several yards away, still skidding on his back a few feet more until he finally stopped. He let out a pitiful moan no one could hear, not even Danny himself. The blast temporarily deafened him.

But it didn't blind him, as he opened his eyes to see an orange-red inferno eating what remained of the Nasty Burger. He cried out, whether in despair, surprise, determination, or anger, no one could tell. Danny hefted himself up, leaving any injuries unacknowledged. He ran forward, shielding himself from the heat that adrenaline wouldn't let him feel.

But because he was deaf, he couldn't hear what his normally acute senses would've let him- the sound of air seeping through a tight space. Or rather, gas seeping from the cracked pipes beneath the blazing building.

The smell was the only thing that saved him. He smelled the gas when he was only a few yards from the building. So he slowed his mad dash and eventually stopped. It was when he was taking a few steps back, undecided between the priority of escaping the current danger and the chance of saving someone from the previous one, that the second explosion occurred. While his hesitation saved his life, his proximity only made his injuries worse.

The second blast blew away whatever was left of the burning restaurant. All of the stone, plaster, tile, and glass that hadn't been blown out of its place the first time were quickly spread throughout the lot. He felt heat. He felt pain on his leg and face. He was blown backwards once more.

This arc was not nearly as graceful as he tumbled and rolled, finally coming to rest on the opposite side of the parking lot.

The Nasty Burger was an even bigger blaze than it was the first time, acting as though there was still a structure to burn. The smoke from the latter explosion left everything covered in a thick smog. By the time it finally cleared, Danny Fenton was finally released into blissful unconsciousness.

* * *

He felt cold. Very cold. It wasn't like the chill in the middle of the night, the cold of a winter's day, or even the cold of his ghost form. This cold was much different. It came from the depths of his soul, beyond what even a ghost could explain. He didn't like it.

But he couldn't express it. He could _feel_ the cold, yes. Almost too well. But his body refused to shiver or curl up in on itself. He couldn't even mold his features into a look of discomfort. He couldn't move. He could barely even breathe.

Danny was vaguely aware of all of these bits and pieces of his current situation, but he couldn't make anything of it. His emotions were blocked off as well. He couldn't feel confused at why he couldn't move, annoyed at why he was so cold, or curious as to where he was. He wasn't even worried about practically not breathing. He just was.

However, his senses came back to him, ever so slowly. The cold was still there, but he could also feel searing heat above him, getting hotter every second. He could hear the crackling of fire, but it was muffled as though he was underwater. He could taste the blood in his mouth. He could smell the smoke and gore that permeated the air. He still couldn't see, but he also couldn't tell if it was because his eyes were closed or because he was actually blinded by whatever happened.

Wait, no- he could see his eyelids turning red from the light of what he assumed were flames at this point. There was something wrong, though, but he couldn't place it as another sense- one that was too familiar, yet he couldn't place it for the half-life of him- began to take hold.

His back seared- he now knew that it wasn't just the warmth of the flames that made it burn. His leg was burning as well, but not from heat. His muscles tensed in an attempt to move once more, but that just made the burning worse. But the worst wound he could feel was his eye. He finally realized that his limited sight was strange because he was only seeing through one of them- the other was blocked by something.

He had no time to ponder on this or the fact that the new sensation was pain - searing, burning _pain_ - before his muffled hearing caught something in the distance. What was that? Sirens?

_Oh... the police... an ambulance... help..._ These were among Danny's scattered thoughts as he vaguely identified the two types of sirens from each other. How, he had no clue. His thoughts occupied the rest of his limited attention, with even his injuries taking a backseat, before he heard voices as well...

_"Oh, my God... what happened..."_

_"Hey... survivor... here...!"_

_"Jesus... get... stretcher... quickly...!"_

The last thing he knew was his injuries getting jarred as he was placed on the stretcher, a voice attempting to calm him as he once again slipped into oblivion.

_"It'll be alright, kid... You'll be okay..."_

_No... _was his last thought,_ no... it won't..._ _it will never be okay again..._

* * *

The doctor shook her head sadly, looking over the boy's chart. Danny Fenton... three broken ribs, two broken fingers, a concussion... these were only the most mild... the doctor put down the chart and took in the boy's condition.

Danny was covered in bandages. Only his arms and left leg were spared, save for the splint on his right hand and several burns here and there. His right leg was worse than broken; a strip of metal was wedged through the middle of his shin, splitting the bone completely. His back was skinned and burned. And his eye... shard of glass had been fired straight into his left eye.

It had taken hours of delicate surgery to remove the metal from his leg and manage to splint it up properly without causing more damage. With luck, he may just be able to walk again. It had taken a much longer procedure for his eye, to take out the glass without ripping the organ in two. It turned out that it had pierced the skull above and below the eye, barely coming short of his brain, which made it that much harder.

Eventually, the glass and all its fragments were safely removed with no further damage. But that didn't mean there wasn't any damage at all. The brain was left untouched and the bone would heal with time... but the eye was beyond repair. Danny would be permanently blind in that eye.

Personally, the doctor herself was amazed the kid was still alive. The burns were bad enough to place him in a chemically induced coma when he was first found, but after a few hours they had slowly healed and attained in a few hours what would normally take weeks. The only exceptions were the leg and eye. Even his back was marginally better than before.

Turning her mind from the injuries, the doctor felt grief for the boy. After hours of tenuous labor, the police and fellow doctors had uncovered the remains of six different bodies from the wreckage: Edward Lancer, Tucker Foley, Samantha Manson, Jasmine Fenton, Jack Fenton, and Madeline Fenton. His family and friends. His _only_ family and friends. With their deaths, the boy was completely alone.

The doctor looked up from the chart when she heard something. After a few tense seconds, she shook her head, thinking it was her imagining things. This boy couldn't possibly be awake yet...

Her thoughts were broken once more when she definitely did hear something - a moan. She watched, amazed, as the comatose boy began to stir.

* * *

**I have no clue what this will become. Really I don't. It was planned as a crossover, got left alone for a few... years... became a standalone, was left alone more, and when I finally decided to continue it, I had no clue what to do with it and figured _This is as good an ending as any! _and posted it as you see here. Anyone wants to adopt it, be my guest, and that goes for all of my one-shots except for _Hysteria_. I have plans for that one.**

**And speaking of _Hysteria_, I am writing the story to it as of now. Disregard what I wrote at the end of it; it's no longer a crossover, but a standalone. And since no one guessed at the crossover, it was with House. But since I couldn't get House's character down right (really, who can? If it's possible, then the author get a dozen virtual snickerdoodles!) and I stopped keeping track of the episodes, the inspiration for that line of plot died without me even knowing it. Shame. Feel free to thank CatalystoftheSoul for the new muse; her review for that one brought life to the security guard. This'll be fun.**

**On a not-so-unrelated note, I'm gonna be planning my yearly DP Halloween fic soon, and I need a sufficiently scary and/or creepy poem. You get to lead the way this time, folks! _Nevermore_ and _Kingdom by the Sea_ were semi-successes, and I'm hoping to make this year's just a little better! *pulls out back-scratcher* I'll scratch your back if you do...!**

**And if wasn't obvious yet, I don't own DP. We good? 'Kay, we're good.  
**


	7. Hysteria II

**What would've been, had the original _Hysteria _stayed long enough to play. Love it or hate it, but it ain't coming out of my head anymore, so tough luck. Either way, I need the space in my Document Manager to work on the Halloween fic. And no, I won't tell you what that's about. Not yet, anyway. Ya'll can wait five days, can't ya? :P**

_

* * *

1 ~ First Impressions_

"House, I have a new case for you."

The man addressed looked up from his magazine. With slightly graying hair and semi-shaved beard, he looked to be in his late forties. After giving the addressee a cynical look, he turned away from her, flipping the page of the magazine and continuing to read.

Lisa Cuddy gave an exasperated sigh. Shaking her head, she held up a medical file.

"Sixteen-year-old male, hemoptysis and chest pains. Already checked for bronchitis, pneumonia, and lung cancer, but the tests came up negative."

The man, House, sighed irritably and looked up. "You know, it's already been established that when I ignore you, it means that I don't want you to be here."

"House, you haven't had a case in weeks and you're shirking on your clinic duty. Do your job, or else you won't have one," said Cuddy, who tossed the file onto the nearby table in frustration.

"It has also been established that my tenure prevents that little option."

"If you're not doing your job, then the contract is null and void."

House stared at Cuddy for a long while before standing up from the examination table he hi-jacked and grabbing his cane. "Pulmonary embolism. Do a surgery to find the clot." He attempted to walk out, but Cuddy's voice stopped him.

"Already checked. We did an MRI, CT scan, even an X-ray. He's clean." She picked up the file once more and held it out to him as he turned around. "We ruled out most of the possible causes already. Nothing."

House again gave her a long look. "Aspergilloma."

"Nope."

"Tuberculosis."

"No."

"Inhaled a Lego?"

"House."

"What?" House continued on his way out of the room, ignoring Cuddy's outstretched hand and the file in it. "Just because he's sixteen doesn't mean he's not stupid enough to swallow something he wasn't supposed to."

Cuddy just shook her head and quickened her step to keep pace with him. "Just take the case. You and I both know that you enjoy a good mystery."

"And what, pray tell, would make this a 'me' worthy mystery?"

"Look at the damn file and see for yourself." She once again held the file up for him to see. Looking critical, yet still curious, he finally took it and flipped through it.

Skimming through most of the 'unnecessary' numbers, his eyes caught on one of the more unusual points. He looked back up at Cuddy and lifted an eyebrow. "This file can't be right."

Cuddy almost gave a satisfied smirk at catching his attention. "It is. Your team and I each took the test twice. Same every time."

"Then how much money does your hospital spend on thermometers?"

"Enough that it gave all of us an accurate 98.6 when we didn't believe they were correct either."

House stared blankly at her once more. "So... if the thermometers are working, and this kid's still breathing, then how come he has a 86.4 degree temperature?"

Cuddy's smirk truly did show itself when she saw that she had him at checkmate. "I don't know. Why don't you answer that question in exchange for a paycheck?"

And then she left, leaving a baffled and extremely intrigued House.

He felt heavy. Never a good sign. His brain felt foggy, his chest sore, and his hearing was as though he had fallen into the lake in the park. For some reason, he felt as though he should be afraid, but couldn't for the life of him figure out why.

Then he heard a woman's voice. Light, yet confident, but extremely familiar. But where...?

_... No... it couldn't be..._

"M-mom...?" He opened his eyes, blurry from lack of use, but it wasn't his mother that he saw. The only thing similar between the two was the red hair, though as she turned her head, he realized it was just a trick of the light; she was really a brunette.

She gave a sad smile at the assumption and walked over. "No, my name is Dr. Cameron. I'm one of the specialists in charge of your case."

_"You're stupid. You know what happened to your mother, yet you still think she's okay? Idiot..."_

His depression over the mistake and the comments of his 'second voice' clouded his still blurry thoughts before what she said made a dent. "Doctor...?" Then it hit him full force.

"WHAT!" He sat up quickly, startling Cameron and disturbing the medical equipment. He started to frantically pull at the IV in his arm and nearly succeeded in tearing the stubborn thing out before Cameron finally managed to grab a firm hold of his hand.

"Calm down," she said in a voice that froze him. "We are here to help you. You're sick and we're going to get you out of here as soon as you're better."

His eyes, previously wide from shock, quickly narrowed as he recognized the tone of voice that she had accidentally used. He yanked his arm from her grasp. "Don't treat me like a child," he growled, his life experiences being the only thing that kept his sky blue eyes from adopting an abnormal green. "I'm sixteen! I know full well what I'm here for!" He lowered his arm, but didn't break eye contact with the once-again startled woman. "Every time I've been in a hospital, bad things have happened. So either tell me the bad news or leave. Now."

Cameron, who didn't think that she would upset him that badly, shook her head and stood up. "T-there is no bad news," she began, pausing slightly when he broke his gaze only to roll his eyes, "but you did collapse after you coughed up blood. There's something wrong, so we're going to find out what."

He scoffed, but didn't say anything. Instead, he turned away from her and laid back down. Satisfied that he was calm enough, she left the room, barely hearing him mumble under his breath.

_"Something's wrong? Of course, something's wrong! You, the little half-ghost freak who fooled himself into thinking he was still human, have the nerve to exist!"_

"As if you could help me..."

House entered the meeting room with his usual flair; interrupting his team's current conversation while dumping his book bag on a nearby chair. The three looked up while House got himself settled in. By the time he had finished, he looked up to find them still staring.

"What?" he said, wiping at his chin. "Do I have Cheerios stuck to my face?"

A tall, dark-skinned man, Dr. Eric Foreman, just shook his head. "I'm still surprised you even took this case. Unless it was some unexplainable anomaly, you usually wouldn't even bother."

"Well, technically, a 86.4 degree temperature kinda _is_ unexplainable," said House, walking over towards the coffee maker. "Unless he was dead when you took his temperature. Then the fact that he's alive _now_ would be the unexplainable part."

"We did take his temperature while he was sleeping," said a blond man with an Australian accent. Dr. Robert Chase sat with his arms crossed. "Maybe it's only his basal body temp."

"That's still too low," said Cameron. "And we can rule out hypothermia, since he woke up well enough to try and escape the hospital."

House turned towards her, coffee in hand. "Escape? What is this, a prison camp?"

"It might as well be, with the look he had when he learned I was a doctor. Nearly ripped his IV clean out of his skin."

"So, not only is he sick, but he's also suicidal," said House, taking a sip of his coffee. "You did tell him that the sharp needle in his arm was keeping him from having a stroke, right?"

"... No, it's not," said Chase.

"But he doesn't know that," said House, pulling his 'Are you stupid?' look. He turned back to Cameron. "Well? Did you?"

"Never got the chance. He went berserk as soon as he woke up." Cameron cringed slightly at the memory. "And I think he might have family problems. He woke up mistaking me as his mother, and almost looked depressed when he realized I wasn't."

"As far as we know, he doesn't have a family," said Foreman. "It was a security guard who called the hospital after he tried to shoplift the store she worked at. Looked ragged enough to be a runaway, at least."

"Then that means we have no family history," said House, leaning on the white board. "Anyone try to get finger prints yet?"

"We need the patient's authorization first," said Chase, his eyebrow raised.

"Then hop to it! You just said he was awake. And while you're at it, get a core body temperature this time. Wouldn't wanna screw up, would we?" With that, House set down his coffee mug and retreated to his office, leaving his team to their own devices.

_

* * *

2 ~ Nightmare_s

The boy sat in bed, reviewing his options. Since he collapsed in Princeton, he assumed that he was in Princeton-Plainsboro. It was the biggest and the closest. He also knew that he was probably on the second floor, if his lungs were the problem. Unfortunately the female doctor, Cameron, he remembered, didn't say anything about his condition other than that he was coughing up blood. There could be tons of other things wrong with him, the way he was living.

He held his hand up and attempted, for the fifth time, to create an ectoblast. And for the fifth time, the ball of concentrated energy formed, bringing with it a stinging pain. For the fifth time, he hissed in discomfort, and for the fifth time, he grabbed onto his wrist with the other hand to keep it from shaking. But for the first time, the glowing green ball didn't disintegrate. He kept it steady, embracing, if not enjoying, the pain.

He wasn't sure why it hurt. He couldn't even go invisible or intangible without feeling almost unbearably hot, but it wasn't as bad with those as it was with this. And this probably wasn't as bad as cryokinesis, or duplication. Not that he tried; he could barely form ectoblasts without someone noticing, let alone any of his higher-level powers.

Suddenly, he heard the door opening and he let his hand drop. The bedsheets burned for a second and a half before he remembered to let the ball of energy disperse. The door opened and three doctors appeared, one of them Cameron. She caught his eye and squirmed for a split second before looking away. She was obviously still shaken about that morning. He didn't feel guilty; he hated doctors.

"Good afternoon," said one. He had an Australian accent. "My name is Dr. Chase. This," he motioned to the other new doctor, the dark-skinned one, "is Dr. Foreman. You've already met Dr. Cameron."

He looked at Cameron, who was trying her best not to return the favor. "Yeah," he said, ice lacing his voice. "We've met."

Chase flinched a little at his tone, but didn't say anything. Foreman tried to break the silence. "We never did learn your name. Care to fill us in?"

He looked towards Foreman and stared. It was a simple enough question, to be certain. But he wasn't ready yet. So, like every other time the subject popped up, he lied. "Aiden."

Foreman raised an eyebrow. "No last name?"

"Why do you need to know?"

"We're doctors. We help you. You help us help you. If you don't help us, we can't help you." 'Aiden's' eyes narrowed. Like Cameron, he treated him like a child.

"What do you take me for? An idiot?" he snapped, temper flaring. "I know the basics of what is or isn't required. A last name is not on that list."

"A last name is required to find your parents. They need to know that their son is in the hospital and they need to tell us if genetics is why you're sick." Foreman became almost as angry as Aiden. Chase and Cameron were stuck like deer in headlights, watching the argument ensue like a tennis match.

"If there's one thing I could tell you, it's that it's not genetics." Aiden was livid, yet composed. His voice barely rose as time passed. "My parents do... did lab work. You honestly think they would care to be around dangerous and radioactive chemicals if there was a chance that they would collapse in the middle of it all?"

Foreman didn't say anything. A few seconds of tense, burning silence had Aiden's nerves collapsing on one another.

_"This fool of a doctor thinks he can treat you like a criminal!"_ said one of the voices.

_"He is a criminal,"_ said another. _"Or he might as well be. If he wasn't around in the first place, none of this would've happened!"_

Foreman's advances combined with the internal argument with himself of all people caused his composure to quickly break. "I've been on the streets for a year! Whatever I have, it happened out there! So why don't you do us all a favor and _stop prying!"_

A crack developed on the heart monitor's screen. Everyone, including Aiden, jumped at the noise and Aiden, being the only one to know what caused it, quickly calmed himself, rubbing his head due to the instant headache.

_"Fool," _said the second voice, and Aiden could hear the sneer in it, _"are you trying to kill yourself, now? Or maybe you're just trying to get attention that no one should bother to give you!"_

_"The former is far more likely," _said the first. _"It'd be the only way to end whatever pain you so enjoy putting yourself through."_

Attempting to quell the tension, Chase spoke up. "Anyway, Aiden, we need to take your temperature, in order to determine if you have a fever."

Aiden looked at Chase for a long time before agreeing. If anything, it would let _him_ know if things were bad. After Chase applied the thermometer, he led the other two out of the room. As soon as the door was closed, Chase rounded on Foreman. "What is the matter with you?"

"What do you mean 'what's the matter with me'? He's the one who blew up!"

"You shouldn't have provoked him. He's a teenager in a bad way. He didn't need you talking down to him!"

"Guys..."

"I don't care! And you shouldn't either! No last name means he's lying about everything else! We can't treat him based on lies!"

"Guys...!"

"If he doesn't trust us, he's going to lie to us anyway! And if we treat him like he's half his age, he won't talk to us at all!"

"Guys!"

"What?" The two men finally turned their attention to Cameron.

"Don't you notice anything strange about our patient?" She turned back to the window, this time with Foreman and Chase's attention. Aiden was keeping the thermometer in his mouth like he was told, but he was extremely pale. Every few seconds, he would cough into his hand, though he didn't cough blood. He seemed very sick.

Cameron and the others made their way into Aiden's room, and Chase went the rest of the way to Aiden's bedside. "The temperature should be set right about now." He took the tool from Aiden's mouth and looked at the temperature. "92.4. That's not too bad-"

"92.4?" said Aiden in a raspy voice. He seemed surprised. "That's not normal..."

Chase turned towards him. "Well if it's not, then we can get you some blankets and meds to get your temperature back up to normal-"

"No," said Aiden, once again cutting Chase off. "It's too high."

All three doctors whipped their heads towards him. Aiden didn't flinch. "My normal temperature is 81.3."

Silence, again, reigned over the hospital room before the silence was broken once more, this time by Cameron. "Well, if that's the case, then we need to give you some drosastyline, to cool down your core body temperature. All of our normal medication won't work since your fever is already above normal." She marked something on Aiden's medical record, then turned to leave. "I'm going to get the drosastyline. You two take care of the rest." Then she was gone.

Chase, Foreman, and Aiden stared off after her, but eventually Chase focused enough to return to the task at hand. He turned back to Aiden. "Well, now that your temperature's taken care of, now we need some way of identifying your parents."

Aiden's demeanor changed instantly. Still slightly off-guard from Cameron's sudden departure, his comically blank face flashed with an emotion neither Chase nor Foreman could identify, before switching almost immediately into one that they could: anger.

"What the hell would you need them for?" he asked, in a voice that was eerily quiet compared to his earlier outbursts. Chase and Foreman exchanged glances. Aiden continued as though nothing happened. "You shouldn't bother. They won't answer the phone whether you know who they are or not." His blue eye's flashed with emotion, but, again, neither doctor could identify it.

Foreman decided to brave the overly-sensitive waters for the first time since their argument. "If we can get your fingerprints, we can find out who your parents-"

_"Didn't you hear what I just said?" _Aiden growled, still in that quiet voice, but the tone somehow gained a new level of ferocity that had Foreman taking an involuntary step back. "It wouldn't matter. They won't answer. No one will."

_"And it's your fault."_

His eyes hardened, yet somehow softened at the same time. After a few minutes of baleful glaring that had the doctors shivering in their lab coats, he sighed mournfully. He dropped his gaze, shutting himself away from the two scared-yet-confused doctors. He didn't look back up. "Leave," he said, his voice still soft, but with an undertone of pain rather than anger, "... please."

With no further cooperation, Foreman and Chase had no other option but to leave the teen by himself.

Aiden watched as the sliding door closed shut behind the two men. He watched for a few more seconds as they disappeared from view, then lifted his hand up to perform his now regular self-harming ecto-blast.

However, something caught his eye. As he raised his palm up closer, he could see a barely noticeable scorch mark on his hand. To any human, it wouldn't be noticeable at all. But he was far from human.

He dropped his hand, forgetting his previous goal and sighing to himself. _Human... _he gave a humorless chuckle._ What I wouldn't give to be human. Maybe then I wouldn't be in this living nightmare..._

* * *

_3 ~ Lion's Den_

"He's mentally unstable," said Foreman at their next differential. "Even if we had pressured him further over his identity, he would've burst into another fit of anger and then cried crocodile tears."

"So you're saying you think it's a symptom?" asked Chase, who, once again, had his arms crossed. This time it wasn't exactly from boredom.

"I'm saying that it's possible."

"He's a teenager with a screwed up history with his parents. Of course he's going to have a few mood swings, especially if he doesn't want to be here."

"Who said he had a screwed up history? He could very well have great parents and been kidnapped. I don't know and I don't care. I just want to know who the hell he is!"

House and Cameron stood to the side of the room, watching the argument. One was more than upset about the subject matter, yet unwilling to do anything about the two men's argument. The other, however, was thoroughly enjoying himself at the expense of his team. But soon, he got bored, and he brought the feud to an end.

"Yo!" he yelled, gaining the attention of all three. "Here's the deal." He held up his hand and counted off. "Either A-Chase is right and he's sad 'cause Mommy and Daddy don't love him no more, B-Foreman's right and he was stolen away by the Big Bad Wolf, or finally C-he's really an alien from outer space and he didn't adapt all that well to our atmosphere."

As Foreman, Chase, and Cameron stared, he spoke again, "Now, as much as I enjoy watching you two bicker, recess is over. What did you uncover about his temperature?"

Foreman spoke up. "When he found out that his core body temp was 97, he freaked and told us that that was a fever. We set him up on drosastyline, but so far there hasn't been any improvement."

House looked up. "Drosastyline? How much of a temperature did this kid have?"

Cameron volunteered for this one. "He had a four degree temp. He said his normal temperature was 81.3."

House looked at her for a short while before pulling his prescription bottle out of his pocket and popping a Vicodin. Then he spoke. "Cool."

The three just stared similarly for a while before Foreman snorted. "Only you, House... only you..."

House turned to the whiteboard and, under _Hemoptysis_ and _Chest Pains,_ wrote _Fever_. "So..." he said, capping the marker, "any ideas?"

"He could have pulmonary candiosis. It would account for the hemoptysis, and more often than not cause the chest pains," said Chase.

"That doesn't include fever, and he would've been experiencing hallucinations by now," said Cameron.

"Who says he hasn't? He may just be hiding more information from us."

"He's been here for a few days already. If hallucinations were a symptom, then he would've had another one. And a fever still isn't on the list."

Chase took the argument and said no more about it. Foreman, however, had another idea.

"What if it it isn't his lungs? What if it's his heart?" he said, earning looks from both Cameron and Chase, as well as an amused smirk from House. "Think about it. If the heart is pumping excess blood, then the strain against the lungs could cause chest pains."

"And what about the hemoptysis?" asked Chase, interested in spite of himself.

"Any normal infection could cause small fissures in the alveoli and cause the bleeding, as well as the fever."

House looked pleased. "Alrighty, then, get a blood sample to find the infection, and make sure that drosastyline works."

As the three doctors gathered their things and left the room, House began to think deeper about the mysterious teen. Perhaps it would do well to pay the kid a visit...

* * *

_"So, are you going to kill yourself anytime soon?"_

"No."

_"Well, why not? You'll be rid of the guilt. Of the shame. Of us!"_

"Because... they wouldn't want me to."

_"You don't know that. And they can't exactly tell you to commit suicide, can they? Not when they're-"_

"_Shut up!_ Just shut up! No one cares what you think, least of all me!"

"Aw... and here I thought being your doctor pretty much required you to care very much what I think."

Aiden jerked around, making eye contact with a man in his fifties holding a flame-patterned cane. He narrowed his eyes at the intrusion; if he was stuck here, the least he could have was some privacy.

"So, do you often talk to yourself when you think no one's listening?" he said, stepping further into the room. Aiden scowled.

"You're my doctor? You're House?" he snorted. "Right. And I'm the Queen of England."

"Just like I'm not Dr. House. I'm actually Will. I. Am," said House, taking Aiden's protests in stride. "But then again... everyone lies."

Aiden's eyes narrowed. "Who do you think you are?" he growled, barely keeping his eyes from shifting.

House could only look amused. "I already said. I'm your doctor. And seeing as you're not an old lady with her face printed on the English pound, I would have to say that you're... Aiden, right? Or is it really Aiden?"

Aiden growled softly. _"Huh. This doctor isn't an idiot like the others. I like him,"_ said the first voice.

_"Why? A smart doctor is almost worse than a dumb one! Liking him will only get us into more trouble!"_ argued the other, and Aiden barely kept himself from yelling at them to shut up or clutching his head in annoyance. He settled for ignoring them instead.

"Of course my name is Aiden," he said, focusing his attention back to House. "Why would I tell you a lie about something as stupid as that?"

"Ah!" House cried, lifting up his cane in a fancy gesture that just barely managed to not hit anything. "That's the question, isn't it? Why would a kid like you, with obviously nothing to lose-" Aiden growled at this, but said nothing, "-lie about your name?" House dropped his cane and limped over to stand at Aiden's bedside. "Perhaps because you don't want us to know where you came from? Or who you really are?"

Aiden gave a snort. "What is there to tell? To you, I'm just some stupid kid who ran away from home and got himself sick."

House raised an eyebrow. "Is that the story you're telling? Is it true?"

"Does it matter?"

**

* * *

**

**And so the muse left the building. These few chapters by themselves have potential, and since they have nothing to do with the new idea, feel free to adopt. Poor thing...**

**Keep on keepin' on!**

**~Foxxi  
**


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